


Moonlight

by pirategirljack



Category: 12 Monkeys (TV)
Genre: 12 monkeys theme week 2016, Abandonment, Comfort, F/M, Loneliness, Post 2.12, why do i like to make myself sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:06:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirategirljack/pseuds/pirategirljack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12 Monkeys Theme Week Day 2 - Theories</p><p>Another Jenncon fic that's totally not a theory, but there you go. Deacon gets back after the attack...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

There wasn’t anyone left in the Bleeders camp, and that suited Deacon just fine. Whatever they’d done to bring him back, it had hurt, and it hadn’t gotten rid of the violently vivid memory of being killed, slowly, by throat-slitting. He didn’t know how he’d gotten away, but he was here, now, and there were walls around him, and it was as dark as it ever got outside with the storms.

He dragged a chair into the middle of the room, faced it to the only door, sat himself in it, and lowered his face into his hands.

The knife.

His throat.

The pain as each fiber of him parted, cutting off his air, loosing his hot blood all down his front. Watching the others die right in front of him, even Hannah. She was just a kid.   
Deacon couldn’t remember the last time his whole body had shook like this, and he didn’t even have some booze to calm his nerve or blunt the memories. His next breath sounded a little too much like a sob for his comfort.

A noise; something in the doorway.

He snapped his head up, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there anymore, and it took him a few too-fast heartbeats to realize it was just Jennifer, peeking around the doorframe, looking about as scared as he felt.

He also couldn’t remember the last time he was truly and completely so scared.

“You came back,” she said, simply, her voice small and half blocked by her hands bunched on the doorframe before her. 

He worked on forcing his limbs to unlock, one at a time, so he could go back to leaning his elbows on his knees, trying to remember how to breathe. It’s harder after it’s stopped and started again.

“Not on purpose. Shouldn’t have left at all.” It was weird that his voice sounded the same; there wasn’t even a scar across his throat. He’d checked.

“What happened?”

A deep, shuddering breath. “They killed us.” He folded back in on himself, hid his face. Jennifer knew what something like this could feel like, she knew what not trusting your own mind was like, and it surprised him now little he cared if she saw him this weak. She wouldn’t hurt him.

“No more killing,” she’d said. He should have listened.

He heard her moving, carefully coming out from the doorway, slowly moving toward him, the way someone might move toward a large, dangerous, wounded dog. But Jennifer loved animals, and she was scared, he could tell in the hesitations in her steps, but she still crossed the room.

Then, after a while, when the moonlight slanted through the boarded up windows, she was right in front of him.

He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t move. He was waiting to see what she’d do as much as she was waiting to see if she’d stop him.

Her small fingers on his shoulder. He trembled all over again.

“Poor puppy,” she said. There was so much sadness in her voice. So much loneliness. Her hands shook almost as much as he did. “Everyone left. Left me. I’m not anyone’s mother, never was.” Her hand smoothed over his shoulder toward his neck, and the other one looped slowly around him from the other side. Her sweater was itchy against his skin. She was warm, and smelled of woodsmoke and cold air. A scav smell that didn’t quite seem to work on her, but came across as sweeter, less dirty when it did.

Her fingers threaded into his hair at the nape of his neck, and she pulled him into her stomach.

He shuddered again, and it was a long, dark moment before he could make his arms move, but when they did, he’d intended to push her back but the looped around her waist of their own accord, and pulled her closer, until he was wrapped all the way around her, his fists knotted in her sweater, his face buried in her middle. 

“I’ll keep you safe,” she said, and he heard her voice from against her chest with one ear and through the air with the other, making it sound strange and profound. 

“How?”

“We’ll figure it out together.” This time, she paused, then, “Promise you won’t leave? Like everyone else did over and over?”

Her voice was so small, smaller even than it bad been at the doorway, that he looked up into her face. Her hands were in his hair, her arms around his head and shoulders. It made no sense, but he did feel safer, and he wanted her to feel the same.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
